


Dear Diary

by seutedeern



Category: The Monstrumologist Series - Rick Yancey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:50:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seutedeern/pseuds/seutedeern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pellinore finds Will Henry's notebook, which also happens to be his diary. Things ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Diary

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to chuck out this fic on AO3 as well for the poor souls who look for Willinore fics and don't go on LJ anymore.
> 
> Also, Will Henry is an adult in this fic, so don't panic, it's not underage. :)

The first time I really noticed it was when I was about eleven years old. Certainly, my interest, the initial curiosity and appreciation I harboured back then, was only on an absolutely platonic level. Nobody could escape the infamous  _Warthrop Effect_  after all. Myself included.  
  
I never missed the looks women -- often enough, even men -- used to give him when he and I happened to be out on the streets to run some of his errands and he needed my indispensable services. Back then, I wondered  _why_  everyone was turning their heads after him when we passed them by. I used to steal brief secret glances at my master every now and then as I tried to work out what exactly people saw in him.  
  
Of course I didn’t fail to see that he was handsome by society’s standards, and yet, as time went on, I was beginning to understand  _why_  he seemed so attractive to other people.  
  
I began to study his features, his posture, the way he walked and talked and gesticulated wildly with his hands when he was either excited or upset. His different expressions became so familiar to me that I could read him like a book -- a talent of which I liked to take advantage whenever the opportunity was given.  
  
As I got older and started to write down our adventures -- still without the doctor’s approval -- I also fell into the unwise habit of making little notes regarding Warthrop. They were rather harmless, but the sort of notes one would have expected, not in a 20-year-old boy’s notebook, but rather in the diary of a foolish teenage girl in love. Apart from little notes about Warthrop’s habits and a list of things he liked, I also tended to draw sketches of his face whenever my mind drifted off and I wasn’t really concentrating. Once I was finished and realised what I had produced yet again, I would feel a wave of embarrassment washing over me.  
  
However, I never had the heart to rip out these pages and destroy them. In retrospect, I should have eliminated the shameful evidence. It would have saved me a lot of teasing and taunting from my master, the object of my affection.  
  
I must admit, I had been rather careless at the time he first noticed it. I hadn’t expected him to have any interest in my business -- after all, he had been engrossed with his work for quite a while now and had yet again not paid any attention to me for a couple of days. That fact had niggled at me but not enough to prevent my being content that I had time to run some of my own errands and spend my time as I pleased. I hadn’t heard him approaching me from behind; Warthrop had that unpleasant habit of walking very quietly most of the time. It wasn’t until I saw his shadow looming over my notebook that I winced in surprise and quickly closed the book.  
  
“Well, well, Will Henry, what have we here?” he asked with amusement in his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something else?”  
  
“Something else, sir?”  
  
“Assistant things, silly boy.” he chided me, and then -- “What’s in that notebook, Will Henry? Are you keeping secrets from me?”  
  
“No, I’m not.” I replied immediately -- probably too quickly because my master furrowed his brows in a way that indicated he didn't believe me at all.  
  
“Well, would you mind handing me over your precious little notebook, then? I want to see what you’ve been doing.”  
  
“I’m writing, sir,” I said, hesitating as I watched Warthrop sit down on the chair next to me.  
  
“Writing what? Letters?”  
  
I shook my head, avoiding his enquiring stare as I tried to ignore the heat that shot up to my face.  
  
“No, sir. I wrote down some of our… adventures.”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake, Will Henry!” Warthrop cried, throwing his hands into the air. “I told you I do not want you to write down our  _adventures_  as you like to call them.”  
  
I kept my gaze sternly fixed upon my hands, which still covered the notebook, but I wasn’t unaware of my master’s stare boring into my skull. I could hear the scraping sound of his chair being moved and then, suddenly, his hands appeared in my vision as they tried to pry the notebook from my grip.  
  
“Give it to me, Will Henry,” he ordered, effort evident in his voice, “Snap to!”  
  
Reluctantly, I loosened my grip on the notebook and he snatched it quickly from me with a little  _aha!_ -sound before I could change my mind.  
  
“Let’s see what we’ve got here, Will Henry, shall we?”  
  
Until up to that moment, nothing in my life had felt more humiliating and frightening than those minutes the doctor needed to flick through the entire notebook, stopping at some pages to examine them more closely. And I can say that I had seen many, many horrible things in my twenty-year-old life.  
  
The minutes ticked away ever so slowly, and when my master finally -- silently -- put down the book, I felt as though I had died a thousand deaths.  
  
I wasn’t sure what I expected his reaction to be. Confusion? Disgust? Amusement? But instead, Warthrop just kept quiet until I couldn’t bear the silence anymore and sought his eyes.  
  
“Well,” he began, drawing in a deep breath, “I suppose you’re quite an artist, Will Henry.” He kept his fingertips pressed tightly onto the leathery surface of the notebook while his expression itself was calm and composed -- something which unsettled me. I was proud of my ability to read the doctor’s body language like nobody else could. But now, I was at a loss.  
  
“Thank you,” I replied tentatively, not quite sure whether it was the right thing to say.  
  
He smiled wryly back at me. “Me, the failed poet, and here are you, part-time DaVinci with sketches of… of…”  
  
“Of you, sir.” I quietly finished the sentence; there was no use in dancing around the topic, after all.  
  
“Yes,” Warthrop nodded slowly, gaze fixed on the book, “That was quite a dominant theme in your  _records_.”  
  
“I’m sorry, doctor, I didn’t mean --”  
  
“Sorry?” he interrupted me with a confused look briefly flickering across his features. “Why would you be sorry, Will Henry? If you did  _not_  mean any of this, you wouldn’t have filled about three quarters of this book with lush descriptions of my life, and all those drawings!” As he said this, he took the notebook and waved it in front of my face. And, by God, I felt like disappearing right then and there.  
  
Without another word, I quickly grabbed the book and pressed it protectively against my chest. Warthrop only kept on watching me, waiting for something, and there was something in his posture that was of a  _challenging_  nature. Usually, I didn’t mind challenging my master, I took great pleasure in it, but at this very moment, I felt more intimidated than ever and quickly left the room to hide away in my bedroom.  
  
*  
  
The notebook lay on the top of my little desk in my room and for days, I left it untouched. Even looking at it was difficult for me and so, after having passed it a couple of times, I hid it away in my desk drawer so I wouldn’t always be reminded of the shame it had brought upon me.  
  
However, as much as I wished my master had never seen it, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was  _thinking_  of it. He never brought it up and our usual everyday routine hadn’t changed -- often enough, we received strange deliveries for the doctor at night, we’d inspect and dissect them together while Warthrop would lecture me about his latest possessions and I helped him to clean up afterwards. As usual, I was  _indispensable_  to him, as he liked to remind me every so often. I took care of his home, his fortune and his well-being -- a fact that made me feel much too often as though I was his substitute-wife, which had my cheeks glowing a bright red when I allowed myself to think what other duties would be attached to that title. If the doctor talked to me during one of those moments, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was capable of reading my thoughts. I wouldn’t put it past him after all that he would have enjoyed teasing me in that cruel merciless way.  
  
The teasing, however, was of a different nature and not particularly subtle since this word had never been included in my master’s vocabulary.  
  
Whenever I picked up a pencil in order to jot down notes as the doctor dictated me what to write, he flashed me a brief knowing grin before he set to work. Each time this happened, warmth shot up to my face and I kept my gaze firmly fixed upon the sheet of paper in my hands.  
  
Sometimes, the monstrumologist granted me some free time for myself -- or as he put it, “You would only be a hindrance to me now, Will Henry, and I need to get this matter done as soon as possible.” He also liked to emphasize that I had the time off during which he’d be away, and that I was free to do whatever I liked and that he would not interrupt me once he got back. How I hated him for that.  
  
For some reason, the doctor took great pleasure in teasing me and watching my reaction. Warthrop was usually not a man who was greatly concerned what other people did and how they felt but there must have been something that tickled his fancy, something that amused him to no end in the way I reacted. Whether it was my quiet annoyance or my sheer embarrassment, I cannot say.  
  
One evening, Warthrop suddenly brought up the topic; no hints, no subtle teasing. I was reading the newspapers to him while he sat in his armchair, sipping on his black tea every now and then, his brows knitted in concentration.  
  
Just when I was about to start reading out loud a new paragraph, the doctor interrupted me: “Tell me one thing, Will Henry,” he said, softly but with a serious tone, “Why not Lilly Bates?”  
  
I looked up at him with utter confusion. “Sir?” Since I had just read out an article to him about a mysterious airship that had been seen in California, I didn’t quite grasp the context of the monstrumologist’s question.  
  
“Why not Lilly Bates?” he repeated and looked up at me this time, his dark eyes seemingly intense as ever.  
  
“You think she’s from outer space?” I asked with amusement but my master only clicked his tongue with a wave of his hand.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Will Henry, even though I can see  _why_  you would think that. I’m talking about your notebook! All this time I’ve been trying to work out why it’s not filled with luscious sentimental descriptions of her. Not to forget intense studies of her face,” he added with one eyebrow raised.  
  
“Doctor, I--”  
  
“I mean,” he continued, ignoring me, and suddenly stood up swiftly, “I always thought you liked her. You’re a young man, Will Henry, and even though I have told you often enough not to fall in love with anybody  _ever_ ,” he paused and shot me a brief meaningful glance, “I thought you’d compensate your…  _feelings_  in a different way.”  
  
“And what do you want me to tell you now, sir?” I asked him not quite without a bitter taste in my mouth.  
  
“I want to know what’s going on inside your head, Master Henry! Haven’t I told you that we must be open and tell the truth to each other at all times?”  
  
“As if,” I laughed joylessly. I still remembered all too well what had happened when I had been only sixteen, how the doctor had ignored that very demand and had blatantly kept the truth from me.  
  
“Will Henry--” he began with his brows furrowed in irritation now and his voice taking a dangerous note -- but he was interrupted by the door bell. We both stared at each other for another long moment, each one of us more stubborn than the other. The bell rang once again and the doctor ground his teeth in anger. “Don’t you want to answer the door?”  
  
I shot him another glare as I got up quietly. I knew Warthrop glared back at me, watched me as I left the room but I didn’t care.  
  
*  
  
Our next case required us to leave our home once again, and the person who asked for our services had shaken me to the core when I had first clapped eyes upon him. For a moment, I thought Malachi had risen from the dead, only that our visitor was probably ten years older than me. I was stunned, my mind swept blank, and our visitor only looked timidly at me with his big blue eyes until he asked if this was the house of Doctor Pellinore Warthrop.   
  
I guided him into the drawing room where the doctor was waiting for us already. While I watched them discussing the latest case -- apparently there was some sort of dog or wolf of the size of a horse that had eradicated half the population of the man’s farm animals -- I couldn’t help but wonder if the doctor, too, saw Malachi in that stranger. Being reminded of the boy from so many years ago, however, caused a deep ache within my chest -- my heart ached for young Malachi who had been dead for over eight years. My heart ached for myself, for my innocence or, in short, for simpler times.  
  
If Warthrop had noticed the shift in my mood, he didn’t let it show. After his obligatory interrogation, our guest had left us; he would wait for us at his farm on the morrow, but for now, Warthrop told me to  _snap to_  and fetch the things he would need for this expedition, and I was quietly grateful for the distraction.  
  
  
*  
  
“Will Henry, it is vital for our venture that we keep the creature alive!”  
  
“ _Alive_ , sir? That man said it was as big as a horse! How are we supposed to do that without being killed ourselves?” I stared at him in utter disbelief. If my master hadn’t been mad before, he surely was mad now.  
  
“Oh, Will Henry,” he chuckled softly and patted my knee, “You’re my assistant. You’re clever. You’re capable. Think of something.”  
  
I looked out of the window of the carriage whilst a deep exasperated sigh escaped my lips. “And why do you want to keep it alive? Do you suddenly want a lap dog for our home?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed, “I want to donate it to the society. You know how most of its archive got destroyed during the fire.”  
  
“I remember it very well, thank you very much.” I shot him a brief sharp look which was only met by pure ignorance. Warthrop still didn’t like to admit that it had been entirely his fault, and now he wanted to make amends by supplying new samples for the rebuilt monstrumarium. Why, of all existing creatures on this planet, it had to be a fenrir, though, was beyond my comprehension.  
  
“Is that a yes?” he then asked with his head slightly tilted to the side.  
  
“No, doctor, it’s a  _you’re out of your mind_.”  
  
That had him laughing. “There’s a fine line between genius and madness, Will Henry, and sometimes I, myself, am not quite sure where exactly I stand.”  
  
“Figure a plan out yourself,” I groused and -- after having abandoned it for so long -- I took out my notebook and a pen. I was aware of my master’s curious look but he held his tongue and we both remained silent for the rest of our journey; we needed to collect our thoughts and prepare ourselves for the oncoming task.  
  
*  
  
It had been a tedious task to set up the trap for the monstrous wolf. For almost an hour we discussed the best way to construct it: obviously, we couldn’t just lure it into a cage as the beast would either escape too quickly or probably even destroy it. Mind you, we were prepared in the worst way possible, for our client could only offer us wood for building a trap.  
  
In the end, we decided to use a strong sedative (thankfully, it was a strong narcotic the doctor had taken with him just in case) and then tie the fenrir up so we could deliver it safely straight away to the society. Our trap, however, consisted of a couple of sheep the wolf hadn’t killed yet and myself, who would keep it ensnared in the barn for as long as possible, until Warthrop had sedated it.  
  
For a long while, I had no sense of anxiety about it, and while my master paced around restlessly and muttered unintelligible words to himself, our client -- Mr. Carter -- looked at me strangely.  
  
“Aren’t you nervous at all?” he then asked me after another moment of hesitation. I merely smiled back at him and reassured him that I had seen worse and that there was no reason for us to be worried.  
  
“You know, Mr. Carter, one of Will Henry’s greatest character traits is how  _humble_  he is,” Warthrop piped up not quite without a sarcastic hint in his voice. “The boy would never brag about what he has seen already in his young life.”  
  
“Well, what  _have_  you already seen that’s worse?”  
  
The doctor and I exchanged a brief glance before he answered, “You don’t want to know.”  
  
Darkness slowly crept into the day and with the first distant howl we could hear, my calmness vanished. There was nervousness, agitation, worry, but there was also excitement, the taste of the mad thrill of going on a hunt at the tip of my tongue, making my body jittery.  
  
“Can I go?” I quietly asked the doctor but he just shook his head.  
  
“Wait. The howl is still too distant.”  
  
“But I could already prepare everything in the barn! The sheep will have to get used to my presence anyway, so I might as well go now.”  
  
“Fine,” he sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose with his long fingers, “But promise me to keep the lights out when you’re inside! I don’t want this operation to fail because of you, Will Henry.”  
  
“When have I ever let you down?” I grinned back at him, even though the look that crossed the doctor’s handsome features said,  _Do not test my politeness._  
  
“Take what you need and snap to it, Will Henry.”  
  
And snap to, I did.  
  
I rushed to get the equipment and took my gun with me. While Warthrop’s rifle contained a sedative, he had previously told me to load mine with proper ammunition in case things went unexpectedly wrong. The doctor reminded me one more time to be quick and quiet, which I only brushed off with a hasty “I know,  _I know_ ,” before I left the house and hurried across the yard and over to the barn.  
  
The sheep ran around as I entered and looked at me with their dark scared eyes as they screamed in their sheer fright. I tried to calm them down, at first with shushing, and when that didn’t help, I tried to pet them until they were quiet. Once they had got used to my presence, I looked for a good position for me to fire from. I figured that shooting from above would be the easiest way; the fenrir would make an easy target and I would be out of danger.  
  
However, I wondered where the doctor would position himself. While I was supposed to set up the trap -- our measly hope was that the giant wolf would get entangled in a simple net -- the doctor would have to cut the ropes that would keep the netting up on the ceiling. It was a task that had to be perfectly timed, which wasn’t a problem for me and the doctor. Over the years, we had learned to work well together, well-tuned like a clockwork, so I wasn’t overly worried about the possible failure of our mission.  
  
Not much later, after I had set up the trap, the doctor and Carter joined me in the barn. Warthrop walked around, observed the area and inspected my work before he nodded curtly, standing stiffly with his hands folded behind his back.  
  
“Very well,” he said, “Let us get into position then. As you may have noticed, gentlemen, the howling isn’t too distant anymore. If we’re lucky, the fenrir may approach us within the next twenty minutes.”  
  
“What are we going to use as a bait?” Mr. Carter piped up, looking more nervous than the day he had showed up at our door at Harrington Lane.  
  
The doctor turned to look at him for a long moment, as though the good man was an imbecile. And when he spoke, it was deliberately slow and calm. “Of course we need your sheep, Mr. Carter. That’s what the wolf comes looking for after all.”  
  
Our client opened his mouth to say something but Warthrop’s expression was too determined to allow any protest. Sometimes, my master could be a steam roller once he had sat his mind on something, and often enough it was a bitter pill to swallow to submit to his infinite ego and stubborn will.  
  
Quickly, my master and I discussed how we’d proceed and then got into our positions – while I climbed up to my spot, the doctor and Carter hid away in two corners opposite each other.  
  
With bated breath, I listened to the howling approaching us, and just a little while later, I could hear scratching and growling outside the barn. Shooting a look at the doctor, Warthrop nodded briefly at me.  _Time to get ready._  
  
It didn’t take long until the door burst open, as anticipated since we hadn’t barricaded it. However, what we did not expect, was that there would be two monstrous wolves storming in.  
  
“Doctor!” I cried to warn him as the beasts entered the building but my voice was drowned by the sheep’s loud cries of dismay and the wolves’ growling and hissing.  
  
For a second, I sat there frozen in place, not sure as to what to do: the doctor had emerged from his hideout and was already looking for a position from which he could sedate the two wolves easily. My only explanation for this careless behaviour was that he assumed Carter had already cut the ropes which kept the netting still attached to the ceiling. But Mr. Carter sat there quivering behind the haystack, too frightened to move.  
  
“Will Henry!” I could hear the doctor’s voice booming, followed by the sound of a shot being fired, and then again, “Will Henry, where  _are you_?”  
  
Shaking my head quickly as I awoke from my stupor, I quickly clambered down to the ground and looked for the best position to fire at the beasts. I held my breath when I aimed for one of them, which was standing right behind my master.  
  
“Will Henry, why is the netting still up on the ceiling?” he yelled. Before I could answer him, though, the second wolf attacked him from the side. Its giant muzzle and paws were covered in sheep blood and left ugly deep red stains on my master’s shirt. The other wolf then also set upon the doctor, who was currently trying to fight off the first fenrir, its enormous teeth dangerously close to his throat.  
  
Without thinking, I fired at the second wolf. Much to my chagrin, it seemed to be completely unaffected by my shot – it still moved, closer and closer, baring its teeth at me with an unearthly growl, the distance between the beast and Warthrop getting smaller and smaller.  
  
When a sudden cry of agony echoed through the air and sent a mad rush of fear for my master’s well-being into my heart, I fired again. And this time, my bullet had found home for good.  
  
*  
  
Warthrop awoke well into the night of the next day. Countless times, he had sat at my bedside when I had been wounded, had watched over me and taken care of me until I had felt better. This time, our roles were reversed.  
  
During our failed mission, he had been badly wounded -- the wolf, which had attacked him, had set its teeth deeply into my master’s ribcage after I had fired the first shot. Panic was what had driven me to shoot the first fenrir, and panic was what had driven me to save the doctor’s life as quickly as possible, too.  
  
For a long moment, neither of us said anything; Warthrop only blinked lazily at me, eyes still a little clouded and groggy from the pain relievers I had given him. Then, a little frown crossed his pale features before he opened his mouth and croaked, “Are they alive?”  
  
I stared at him, not quite -- or at least  _hoping_  he wasn’t meaning what I was suspecting he meant.  
  
“Who?” I therefore asked, with pointed innocence, and the doctor groaned. “Carter and his family?”  
  
“The wolves, Will Henry. The  _fenrirs_. Are they alive? Can we donate them to the society?”  
  
I sighed. I hadn’t been mistaken, I simply knew the doctor too well for that. And I also knew what I had to face next.  
  
“Sir,” I began hesitantly as I got up from his bed and walked over to the wash basin, “I hope you understand that your safety is more important than --”  
  
“I asked if they’re still alive, Will Henry. I don’t think that’s a question too difficult for you to answer!”  
  
I withheld my answer for as long as possible. Instead, I fetched a fresh washrag and soaked it in water before I dared to return to the doctor’s bed. I could see from the look on his face that he wasn’t pleased at all with my behaviour. His entire posture was stiff, impatience written all over his face.  
  
“Well?” he snapped as I sat down next to him and gently wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.  
  
“I had to kill them, sir.” I finally said, my voice surprisingly calm, just like my hand that guided the cloth from his face down to his neck.  
  
However, Warthrop didn’t seem to notice my ministrations. He heaved a heavy sigh, accompanied by a  _Will Henry!_  which indicated that I had yet again disappointed him. But I didn’t mind -- I was too busy washing him thoroughly, feeling the muscles in his neck and shoulders twitch underneath my palm.  
  
 _Now is not the time for that, Will Henry!_ , I quickly chided myself. I had been becoming too distracted staring at my master’s exposed skin. I once more cleaned the washrag before I returned to his bed.  
  
“Can you lean forward?” Gently, I took him by his biceps and helped him to sit up. The doctor let out a loud groan when he started to move and shot me an incredulous look.  
  
“What have you  _done_  to me, Will Henry?” As weak and wounded as he was, he still managed to go back to his old imperious self. I smiled despite myself and put an arm around him.  
  
“Sir, wrap your arms around my neck. I can’t hold you up like this.”  
  
Muttering something under his breath that resembled  _I am not a cripple nor am I mentally challenged, Will Henry,_  he complied nevertheless and held on to my neck while I carefully cleaned his back. I avoided the bandage Carter’s wife had wrapped around Warthrop’s torso but washed the rest thoroughly nevertheless. During those few hours of the doctor’s unconsciousness, he had briefly developed a high fever which I had tried to handle as best as I could with my limited knowledge. His clothes had been soaked in sweat and I had thought it best in every way to remove them, as I had to wash him and cool him every once in a while.  
  
It didn’t take me long to clean his back, and when I was done, I very gently laid him down again. The doctor groaned once more, and I suspected the pain relievers had probably stopped working.  
  
“Do you want me to fetch you some medicine?” I asked, about to get up, but the doctor reached for me and kept me in place. I looked down at his fine delicate fingers wrapped around my wrist, wondering how he still possessed the strength for such a strong grip. “Sir?”  
  
“Don’t,” he murmured, eyes fixed on mine. “Please. Stay.”  
  
“But –” I trailed off as he gently squeezed my wrist, the look in his eyes more imploring than ever.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” he repeated, and I obeyed.  
  
A sigh escaped my lips. I wanted to get up and sit down on the chair next to his bed but another gentle tug on my arm stopped me yet again.  
  
“No,” Warthrop shook his head. “ _Here_ , Will Henry. Lie down with me. You look like Death himself and probably need sleep more than I do.”  
  
It was probably a silly idea of me to give in to his pleading, but here he was, at his most vulnerable, and how could I not give in to the longing I had harboured for so long in my heart?  
  
“Fine, doctor. Move over, then.” I huffed at him as I tried to suppress a smile.  
  
Warthrop looked relieved and slightly pleased with my answer, and without another word, he tried to move his body a little until there was enough space for me to lie down next to him.  
  
Carefully, I draped the blanket over our two bodies, and only now that I had lain down for once did I become aware of how utterly exhausted I was.  
  
“Take your shoes off, Will Henry, we’re not amongst savages here,” I heard the doctor’s voice breathing into my ear. The tone wasn’t as critical as he would have probably liked it; it was still tinged with the hint of a crooked smile, something that made me feel warm and welcome.  
  
Once more, I obeyed him. My clothes were still the same as before and they were covered in dust and stains of blood. I took off my shoes and trousers -- anything else would have perhaps been worrying, seeing as how little space Warthrop and I had between each other. I didn’t trust myself, or my feelings, for that matter.  
  
The doctor, however, welcomed me back by lifting up the blanket for me so I could swiftly slip underneath it. For a short moment, we quarrelled over who would get the pillow (his argument was that he was older and injured; mine was that I hadn’t slept for almost three days and could cut him short on pain relievers if I wanted to), but we settled on sharing it eventually.  
  
It was a strange sensation to be so close to the doctor like this. Of course we had slept together before, and sometimes the doctor had liked to put his arms around me whenever he had feared I might freeze to death. But now, it was different. I was healthy, we weren’t in danger, there was even less space than usual for the two of us, and we were  _aware_  of it. It is strange what the lack of clothes and personal space can do to a human brain, when all it yearns for is comfort and affection.  
  
I felt the doctor shift beside me, not much, just very slightly, and then his hand found my arm, his palm running down slowly my forearm to my hand. I swallowed hard.  
  
“Thanks, Will. For everything,” he said a moment later with a quiet voice which was barely above a whisper as he gave my hand a squeeze.  
  
“It’s my job as your assistant, isn’t it?”  
  
Warthrop only chuckled weakly in reply.  
  
“You’re so much more than that to me, Will. I thought you knew that already, after all these years.”  
  
I merely shrugged; I was too distracted by the hand that was still holding mine. And then, quite unexpectedly, the doctor leaned in close to my ear, breath tickling my neck, and asked with a teasing voice, “Is this going into your diary as well, my dear master Henry?”  
  
I prayed that he didn’t notice the shiver that ran through my entire body, from head to toe. But nevertheless, I quickly pulled my hand away from his and frowned at him. Needless to say, his mocking annoyed me. And the doctor recognised this in the dim light of our room, for his features softened and there was a little anxious note in the way he drew his eyebrows together.  
  
“I’m sorry, Will Henry. I shouldn’t have said that.”  
  
“No,” I replied sourly. “It’s none of your business.”  
  
“You know I’m not good at this.”  
  
“What exactly do you mean? You’re always speaking in riddles, Doctor.”  
  
He didn’t reply. As we fell silent again, and as the minutes ticked away, I wondered if he might have fallen asleep again. I wouldn’t have held it against him -- the man was drugged with some of the strongest pain relievers the Carters had to offer. But then I felt him shift slightly again until his forehead was pressed against my temple and his hand laced with mine. Clearly, I told myself, he didn’t know what he was doing.  
  
“Tell me, how long have you been with me now, Will Henry? Ten, eleven years?”  
  
“Nine --” My voice came out as nothing but an awkward croak and I cleared my throat before I repeated myself, “Nine years, sir.”  
  
Warthrop merely hummed softly. “Nine years,” he sighed, almost dreamily, and I felt his warm breath tickling my neck. It was a pleasant sensation, if not too pleasant, and I tried hard to suppress any feelings it evoked within me.  
  
 _No, no, no!_  
  
“Go to sleep, sir. You need to rest and I need some sleep as well.”  
  
“I’m old enough to decide myself what to do, Will Henry,” he chided me once again. He stopped himself for a heartbeat, though, and then continued with a much softer voice, “But you’re probably right. Let’s sleep.” As he said this he slowly rubbed his nose against my cheek, inhaled my scent deeply, but I remained still. I wasn’t sure how to react to this affectionate gesture, since the doctor had never been an affectionate man before.  
  
We didn’t bid each other goodnight. Warthrop had already been sleepy when I got into bed, and by the time he stopped talking, he had slowly drifted off to sleep.  
  
The room was quiet; nothing could be heard except for the doctor’s soft breathing with his face half tucked into my neck, and I continued to lie awake for the rest of the night with our hands still joined.

*

It felt like a dream, the soft pressure against my lips, soft, soft and warm and gentle, and so very careful. It was dizzying, the gentlest of kisses that woke me from my sleep.  
  
At first, I thought it couldn’t be real. It definitely was too good to be true. Never had I thought that lips could be this enticing and tender. Our lips caught at the insides, clung for a brief moment, until I breathed a shivery sigh for consciousness had started to return to me slowly. For a moment, I didn’t dare to open my eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was that I didn’t want this moment to end, or that I feared what might follow.  
  
Our noses were aligned and I felt the doctor's gently rubbing against mine as we continued to kiss lazily. It wasn’t a chaste kiss, but it wasn’t particularly adventurous either. Before that, I had only ever properly kissed one person, and that had been many years ago.  
  
Of course I knew it had to stop eventually. But as much as I prayed that this moment would last a little longer, I inevitably opened my eyes when Warthrop suddenly opened his lips to snake his tongue inside my mouth, exploring it and caressing my tongue with his. I must have made a startled sound for the doctor stiffened beside me, his lips suddenly frozen in mid-kiss and unresponsive to my eager mouth.  
  
We stared into each other’s eyes for a painfully long moment, and I could see that awareness of our current situation had seeped into his brain as his eyes widened comically. Sheer panic got the better of me, and with a startled little cry I moved away from him and fell over the edge of the bed.  
  
“W-Will Henry?” he stuttered, voice somewhat raspy and so  _very confused_ , as a strand of his dishevelled dark hair fell into his eyes. He made a move to sit up but nearly cried out in pain when he was reminded of his wound.  
  
Quickly, I scrambled to my feet and put my trousers on. I did my best to hide my embarrassment from him, and before he could say another word, I told him that I’d fetch him some more medicine and left the room as fast as my feet could run.  
  
My cheeks were burning bright red as I quickly walked down the stairs to the Carters’ kitchen. The sounds of pans clattering and soft chatter distracted me briefly from my current personal misery, and I was greeted by the friendly faces of our clients.  
  
“Is the doctor awake?” asked Mrs. Carter, wiping her hands on her apron while Mr. Carter shot me a curious look. He had survived the fenrirs’ assault without any injuries.  
  
“Y-yes, the doctor has finally woken up.” The words tumbled hastily out of my mouth as I tried to catch my breath. Could they  _see_  why I was so agitated?  
  
“I will take a look at him.” Mrs. Carter smiled warmly at me after she had put down her apron and fetched the medicine. She squeezed her husband’s shoulder when she exited the room, and that left both us men alone.  
  
Avoiding Carter’s look, I rocked back and forth on my heels. The silence between us was more than uncomfortable -- or perhaps I only imagined it, with my thoughts still whirling around and around, brief recollections of the doctor’s lips pressed against mine and his tongue caressing --  
  
“So, how is he doing?”  
  
I looked up, slightly startled, “I beg your pardon?”  
  
“The doctor,” Carter clarified with a mild smile, “Is he doing better?”  
  
“I should hope so, yes.”  
  
“How can I ever thank him and you for what you have done for us?”  
  
Carter looked at me in earnest, but as soon as I opened my mouth to tell him that he didn’t owe the doctor anything, a shrill voice echoed through the entire house, “ _Will Henreeee_!”  
  
I sighed, dreading already what might follow. “Please excuse me,” I said with an apologetic smile. Carter only laughed in reply.  
  
Silently, and not quite without reluctance, I walked back to the guest room where the doctor was being seen to by Mrs. Carter. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised to find him standing upright and completely dressed while a desperate Mrs. Carter fretted about how Warthrop needed to rest as his wounds were still fresh. My master merely waved his hand dismissively. As soon as he spotted me, he snapped his fingers at me, saying, “What are you waiting for, Will Henry? We need to go back! Get our things and snap to!"  
  
A wave of relief flowed through me at the fact that the doctor wasn't treating me any differently; I was still his assistant, and he was still ordering me around like he had done when I had been only eleven years old. Quickly, I followed his instructions and gathered our things, flashing poor Mrs. Carter an apologetic smile every now and then as she continued trying to convince Warthrop to rest some more.  
  
“My good lady,” he eventually started, his patience growing short as I could see from his rigid posture and the hard edge on his mouth, “believe me, I feel perfectly capable of travelling back to New Jerusalem. If anything happens, Will Henry will make sure to either look after me or call a doctor once we are there. So  _please_  save some of your concern for yourself and your husband.”  
  
His reassurances didn’t seem to make her feel any better, but she gave up nevertheless. As was usual for the doctor, we didn’t eat any breakfast, and twenty minutes later, we sat in our carriage back to our hometown. With a heavy feeling in my heart, I watched the farm building disappear on the horizon, while my master didn’t seem to acknowledge my existence in the slightest. He was merely gazing off into space, lost in his own thoughts. From the signs he was showing, I feared he was slipping back into one of his melancholic phases. Only this time, I was worried that _I_  had triggered such a phase.  
  
*  
  
We arrived back at Harrington Lane when dusk was setting in. The doctor left me to carry our luggage back into the house and to take care of our dinner while he retreated into his beloved laboratory, his sanctuary and the only place where he really felt at home.  
  
Of course, we hardly had any edible food left, but I still managed to cook us scrambled eggs along with bacon and a few slices of bread. Once our dinner was ready, I called for him but I didn’t hear any noise coming from the basement. Frowning, I went down the few stairs to the laboratory, where I expected to find him bustling about, roaming through the shelves or inspecting the various instruments he needed for his examinations.  
  
Against my expectations, though, the doctor was nowhere to be found.  
  
There were times when Warthrop’s carelessness with not telling me where he liked to disappear off to was more than unnerving to me. Perhaps this was a lasting overhang from the time he had left me for several months without having told me a word about it. The sole comfort I had at this moment, was that he couldn’t have gone far, not with his injury.  
  
I found him in the study, his second favourite room at home, and he was kneeling on the ground next to his desk, his form hunched over. Worry shot straight into my heart as I saw him there kneeling like that. What if his wound troubled him?  
  
I called out his name, softly, but the doctor seemed to have been taken by surprise as he jerked up all of a sudden, and banged his head against the edge of the table.  
  
“What is  _wrong_  with you, Will Henry?” he cried out angrily, rubbing the back of his head as he shot me an angry look. “Don’t you see that I am busy and have absolutely  _no time_  for whichever trivialities you want to annoy me about?”  
  
Straightening myself up in an instant, I glared back at him. “I just wanted to tell you that dinner is ready, Doctor.”  
  
He only waved his hand dismissively with a sneer. “I don’t have time for that now. Leave me alone!” he replied testily, but it has been years since he had managed to scare me off effortlessly like this.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I walked over to him and grabbed his biceps, determined not to let him get away with it this time. “You’re coming with me, sir. You haven’t eaten anything for nearly four days.”  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?” He looked up at me and tried to pull his arm away. Luckily, he flinched in pain, but the stubbornness on his face didn’t vanish nonetheless.  
  
“Sir, I will  _carry_  you into the kitchen, if you’re not coming on your own.”  
  
He opened his mouth in protest -- I suppose, it was because he wanted to tell me I wasn’t strong enough to carry him until he remembered that I was an adult and almost as tall as him -- and then sighed gravely.  
  
“Fine. Just take your hand off me, Will Henry. I’m not disabled.”  
  
I did as I was told, feeling quite proud of myself that I had won this little battle against the usually so strong-willed Pellinore Warthrop. From the corner of my eye, I could see, how he quickly put something into the drawer of his table before he shut it with a slam, demonstrating his anger like a child would do. After he got up and wavered slightly, I instantly moved to support him, but he only pushed me away.  
  
“I can do it myself,” he insisted yet again, and walked ahead while I was left behind, grumbling to myself in my irritation about his behaviour.  
  
Dinner was held in silence, except for the occasional fork scraping over the dishes. My master didn’t seem as hungry as I would have thought he might be, but it was also a sign of his impending period of depression.  
  
When we were done, I picked up our plates, but the look Warthrop was giving me stopped me in my tracks.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Haven’t you bought some scones?”  
  
For a second, I thought my ears betrayed me. “Scones? When should I have done that, sir?”  
  
“While I was in my study  _working_ , Will Henry.”  
  
“I was making dinner. I didn’t have time to go to the bakery -- which, if I might add, was already closed by the time we arrived at home.”  
  
With that, I left him sitting there and started to clean the kitchen. While I assumed that he must have been eager to go back to his work, whatever that included, I was surprised to find him still glued to his seat and watching me. For some reason, heat shot up to my face and all of a sudden, I felt a little self-conscious around him and underneath his intent gaze.  
  
“Is there anything else you need from me, sir?”  
  
Warthrop smiled mildly at me for a long uncomfortable moment, before he beckoned me to come over. “Bring me to bed, Will Henry. I don’t feel well --”  
  
“I wonder why.” I interrupted him as I helped him to get up. He only clicked his tongue disapprovingly.  
  
“ _I_  wonder when you’ve become so cheeky. Haven’t you ever been told to respect your elders?”  
  
“I’ve only learned from the best,” I replied matter-of-factly, but he only laughed out loud.  
  
Once we were inside his room, I helped him to undress and tended to his wound. He half-heartedly scolded me for not being gentle with him when it came to changing his bandage; I merely held up my four-fingered hand and immediately, the doctor fell silent. He knew when he had lost an argument.  
  
The wound still looked terrible, but I didn’t fail to notice that the healing process had started a while ago. I tried to clean it as carefully as possible while the doctor hissed and groaned at every touch -- to which I only rolled my eyes at his exaggerated display of discomfort.  
  
And yet, I tried to take care of him with the utmost carefulness; as much as Warthrop used to irritate me to no end, I hated to see him suffer, hated to  _know_  that he was suffering.  
  
Gently, I wrapped the bandage around his torso while I was aware of his gaze resting upon my face, his warm breath tickling my nose. Certainly, my cheeks felt warm from the heat that had rushed up to my face but I resisted the urge to look back at him. I was stronger than that.  
  
“There you go. Now lie down slowly, sir. I said  _slowly_.”  
  
While the doctor let himself be lowered onto his mattress, I quickly fluffed up his pillow. He let out a little relieved sigh, which sounded more like a deep satisfied groan after a long day, and I smiled involuntarily at his blissed out expression.  
  
“What?” he piped up as he noticed the look on my face. “What’s amusing you so much, Will Henry?”  
  
I shook my head, still smiling. “Nothing, doctor.”  
  
As I tucked him neatly under his blanket, he continued to regard me pensively but I still managed to resist him. In earlier years, it used to make me agitated when the doctor regarded me with his sole attention. It still unsettled me at times. But I had learned to embrace it, and now I was quietly basking in it.  
  
Just as I was about to straighten myself up, I heard his voice, soft and weak, calling my name.  
  
“Yes, sir?”  
  
“Will Henry,” he repeated and reached out for me. With one delicate hand, he cupped my cheek as he continued to look at me. Under different circumstances, I would have jerked away from him. At that precise moment, however, I was too stunned to move. His palm was warm and fit neatly to the curve of my jaw. I was certain the doctor must have noticed the instant heat and flush on my cheeks, the way my pupils probably dilated -- as much as I tried to hide away my desire for him, my body was betraying me nevertheless.  
  
A little smile flickered over my master’s lips as he slowly ran his thumb along my cheekbone, back and forth, back and forth, caressing it tentatively. More than once, I asked myself what sort of game he was playing with me.  
  
I allowed myself to close my eyes and press my cheek against his palm, to enjoy the feeling of him touching me like this -- even if only for a brief moment. Much to my chagrin, it didn’t last long. He withdrew his hand, I sighed at the loss, and the doctor told me to go to bed and rest.  
  
With much reluctance I stood up; dizziness had clouded my mind and I could have sworn Warthrop smiled at me still as I tried to regain composure when I wavered slightly.  
  
I left his room, still not wanting to leave  _him_ , and once I had reached the door, I turned around to look at him.  
  
“Good night, sir,”  
  
“Good night, Will Henry.” He frowned slightly, before he added, “Sleep tight.”  
  
I nodded and gently closed the door behind me.  
  
*  
  
When I awoke the next morning, I awoke with a smile. It was a silly thing, waking up with a grin, but my heart felt light for the very first time after what had seemed like a season of utter drought. It wasn’t as though anything significant had been said by the monstrumologist, nothing that would have given me a reason to smile brightly like the cat that had got the cream. And yet, I still felt his warm palm cupping my cheek, felt his intent gaze lingering upon my face, which, with hindsight, still had my cheeks scarlet as well.  
  
As I ran my usual errands for the doctor – cleaning, going to the market, writing letters – I allowed myself to dwell for a little while in the memory of our sleepy kiss. It certainly didn’t  _mean_ anything to the doctor -- something which I had repeated over and over again to myself ever since it had happened, and even still -- but this was all  _I_  had, knowing much too well I’d never get more than that.  
  
I exhaled a shivery sigh at the mere idea of whatever  _more_  might have implied.  
  
However, a rush of panic at a sudden worrying thought eventually got the better of me. Why had it taken me so long to realise what the consequences of our kiss would be? That I had broken the one fundamental rule the doctor had tried to teach to me from the very beginning?  
  
Even though Lilly Bates was still alive, another person had already died because of me, because of my  _infection_. I didn’t want to lose the doctor the same horrible way that girl had died, the way I had lost my father. Lilly had only been lucky. I didn’t dare to imagine what would happen, if Warthrop wasn’t granted the same luck as her.  
  
With an anxious feeling in my heart, I went to check up on my master. Neither had I heard of him nor seen him yet, and it was almost late afternoon. What if he had been infected as well -- only that I had failed to notice it?  
  
I took two stairs at a time as I couldn’t be quick enough in his room, and when I entered it, the first thing I was greeted with, was his deep frown at me.  
  
“Will Henry, is there a particular reason as to  _why_  you rumble through the house and make unnecessary noise like an elephant?”  
  
“Sir --” I licked my lips, catching my breath. “I’m sorry. I thought you were in a bad condition and I needed to see if you were alright.”  
  
“Bad condition?”  
  
“If you had died.”  
  
“Why would I have died, Will Henry? I’m perfectly fine.”  
  
“You don’t feel ill?”  
  
“Apart from the gaping wound in my torso, I feel splendid.”  
  
Slowly, I dared to enter his room and walk over to his bed. Warthrop kept his gaze fixed upon me, eyes curious, while the frown had been replaced by mild amusement.  
  
“You seem a little unsettled, boy. What’s got into you?”  
  
I lowered my gaze for I wasn’t able to meet his eyes as I spoke. My cheeks were burning brightly with embarrassment for I had to bring up our recent intimate contact.  
  
“I was just thinking,” I began, knitting my eyebrows as I tried to find the right words. “What if… What if I have made you sick?”  
  
The doctor tilted his head slightly as his frown returned. “Stop talking in riddles, Will Henry. What are you implying? You haven’t made me sick, but -- as far as I can see -- have tried to make me feel better.”  
  
“Well.” I slowly ground the tip of my shoe against the carpet, still avoiding Warthrop’s eyes. “What if I have infected you?”  
  
The silence that followed was telling enough: the doctor didn’t  _need_  to ask more questions for he  _knew_  exactly what I was implying.  
  
He cleared his throat awkwardly, and as I looked up, he was staring at his hands which were restlessly fumbling with his blanket.  
  
“I don’t think you have infected me, Will Henry, no,” he said quietly.  
  
“But, sir, what makes you so sure? I mean, it’s already happened that someone died because… because of  _that_.”  
  
The monstrumologist barked out a harsh laugh; I merely stared back at him, feeling as though I had missed the punchline of some macabre joke.  
  
“Oh, Will Henry! Do you honestly think that after all these years of living together, your disease wouldn’t have killed me already one way or another?”  
  
“Sir…?”  
  
“How often have I come in contact with your blood, you silly boy? How often have we been forced to share drinks and food? Your saliva has had contact with me on more than  _one particular occasion_. If I had been infected, Will Henry, I’d have died many years ago.”  
  
“I--” I shook my head quickly, still not quite grasping what he was talking about. “Does -- Does that mean you’re  _immune_  to it, doctor?”  
  
He only gave a little shrug in return -- which he seemed to regret as he immediately flinched in pain. With a groan, he said, “Apparently so. I’m quite grateful for that, Will Henry. I don’t fancy dying in that horrible way.”  
  
He must have noticed the sudden change of my expression at that insensitive remark since he quickly hastened to add, “I’m sorry. You do know I didn’t mean it that way, do you?”  
  
“Yes, doctor.” I managed to say as a weak reply. This time, I would let it slip since he never tended to apologise for the things he said.  
  
Warthrop ran his hand through his thick dark mane with a deep sigh. “Well, anyway, I’d appreciate it if you got me some more medicine. The wound makes it impossible for me to sleep for more than half an hour.”  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
For a moment, I thought he was going to say something else, but he only nodded with a wry smile and one of his familiar  _Snap to’s_.  
  
*  
  
I wasn’t sure where I had put the pain relievers Mrs. Carter had given me, but I assumed I must have left them in my rucksack in my room. I looked through the drawers of my dresser, and my wardrobe as well. I found the rucksack, but no medicine. However, another thing that disturbed me mildly was the fact that I couldn’t find my diary.  
  
Up until this very moment, I hadn’t given much thought to it since the doctor had demanded most of my attention over the past few days. But as I was looking through my belongings now, I became aware of the horrible situation. What had  _happened_  to my diary?  
  
I was certain that I had taken it with me -- I  _knew_  I had made sure to take it with me as I didn’t want the Carters, or anybody else, to find it and read about my innermost thoughts and feelings regarding my master. Sadly, my memory as to where I had put it, left me around the time when the doctor and I had arrived at home.  
  
I took a deep breath in order to calm my nerves while I walked down to the doctor’s study, which was the only room he had been in -- apart from the kitchen -- after we had arrived, and I knew neither of the things I was looking for could be found there.  
  
“Aha!” I muttered to myself when I found the bottle with the pills on my master’s desk. I grabbed it and just when I was about to exit the room, I stopped myself. A terrible, terrible thought had occurred to me.  
  
My throat went dry as I walked around the desk and reached for the handle of the upper drawer. For a second, I hesitated; did I really want to intrude upon my master’s privacy?  
  
At the back of my mind, a little voice convinced me otherwise.  _What if he’s got your diary? Isn’t that invading your privacy?_  
  
With a nod to myself, I opened the drawer swiftly, and there it was: my old leather-bound diary, hidden away from curious eyes,  _my_  curious eyes.  
  
Instantly, a wave of anger and shame hit me with so much force that I had to sit down for a moment. As I took out the book with a trembling hand, I felt my heart racing in my chest and breathing had become difficult.  
  
So this was why the doctor had sat on the floor earlier, this was why he had yelled at me for invading his privacy.  _His_  privacy. I could only laugh.  
  
Many a time Warthrop had gone too far, in his profession as well as in his personal life, but this -- this was a new low even for him. I didn’t solely feel betrayal; the feeling of utter disappointment in him was more prominent, if not worse. Was he really that narcissistic and arrogant that he needed to read in my diary about him? Hoping to find -- to find what, actually?  
  
With a bitter smile I took the book with me when I left the room.  
  
When the door flew open, Warthrop shot me a mildly annoyed look. “Will Henry, what took you so long? I’ve been waiting for at least half an hour and --”  
  
I didn’t give him the chance to finish his sentence. Once he noticed my expression and what I was holding in my hands, he fell silent. Unceremoniously, I dropped the diary into his lap while the doctor gave a little groan of pain.  
  
“Well?” I asked coolly as I remained standing by his bed side.  
  
“Will Henry, I can explain it. I --”  
  
“Can you?” I interrupted him, barely able to contain the anger in my voice. “Can you really do that, doctor? Because I would  _love_  to know how my most private item had found its way into your possession!”  
  
I could hear the ticking of the little clock on my master’s table next to his bed, I could hear my pulse racing in my ears --  _thump thump thump_  -- Warthrop, however, remained silent.  
  
“You disgust me,” I said quietly when it dawned on me that he wouldn’t, couldn’t say anything to justify his actions. “It’s already humiliating enough for me that you know about the contents of this diary in the first place. But stealing it from me? Really?”  
  
Usually, I would have expected that he’d berate me for my impudence, but he only turned his face up towards me, slowly, and there was such unexpected shame and agony flickering across his delicate features that I almost, almost felt terrible for what I had just said.  
  
“You need to understand, Will Henry,” he begged, and when he moved, I recoiled in abhorrence. That action didn’t go unnoticed by my master as his features fell for a split-second, before he took a decision and got swiftly out of his bed.  
  
“Stay where you are!” I growled as he came and reached a hand for me.  
  
“Will Henry,” he repeated softly. Gently, he took my forearm and tugged at it.  
  
I tried to free myself but the doctor’s grip was unexpectedly strong, and when I struggled to pull my arm away, he only tightened his hold on me like a vice.  
  
“Stay.” His voice was quiet, soft, and it allowed no protest from me.  
  
Still, protest I did. I turned away from him when he took another step forward, coming dangerously close to me. When I wouldn’t face him as he called out my name once more, he harshly pulled me against him.  
  
As our lips met, there was no tenderness between us. The doctor’s kiss was hard, unrelenting to my struggle; the more I tried to fight him off, the stronger his embrace got. While one of his hands cupped the back of my head, his long elegant fingers buried in my hair and gripping it tightly, his other arm was slung around my waist and kept me in position.  
  
As much as I might have wanted this, the doctor kissing me with passion and possessiveness, it wasn’t how I had wanted it to happen.  
  
I broke free from his fierce grip as soon as I managed to hit the spot where his bandage covered his wound. The doctor gasped and bent over, face scrunched up in pain, while I watched him trying to recover from my blow.  
  
“Why did you do that?” My voice was shaky as I spoke, and only just now, I noticed that my entire body was trembling. Whether it was pure adrenaline or fear, I didn’t know.  
  
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he yelled back at me. I must confess, I had never seen him this angry before -- not when we had been almost lost in the Canadian woods or any other time that had followed. It wasn’t just anger, though, that had him this upset, and I was barely aware of it.  
  
“But not like  _that_!” I exclaimed. And then a thought occurred to me. “Is this why you had stolen my damn diary? To spy on me and my idiotic feelings for you?”  
  
“Will --”  
  
“ _No_! Why can’t you just let me be?! You and your sick games are going too far, Warthrop!” It was the first time I had called him by his last name, and as strange as it felt to me, it also gave me a weird sense of equality to him. “I’m not a toy you can use and abuse, you know.”  
  
“Will, I didn’t -- I never wanted --” His mouth opened and closed as he tried to articulate his thoughts, but he failed miserably. The ever so eloquent man, the poet and philosopher had no words left to say.  
  
With a sneer, I slammed the bottle with the pain relievers onto his bedside table before I turned around and left him. I ignored his imploring cries to stay and let him explain himself. I felt no need to listen to his dubious excuses and lies.  
  
*  
  
That night, my assumption that the monstrumologist couldn’t surprise me anymore was proven wrong. It was almost two in the morning when I awoke to some strange sounds wafting up to my attic from the floor below me. They were entirely new to me as I hadn’t heard them before in all those years I had been living here with him. Even though I had ignored my master for the rest of the day, I felt strangely compelled to follow those sounds and find out where they came from.  
  
The sounds came from the second floor, from one of the guest rooms to be precise, somewhere I usually never tended to go to. As I came closer, my naked feet quiet against the wooden floor, the random sounds began to transform into a proper melody, slow and melancholic, just like the monstrumologist’s form that sat hunched over the piano’s keyboard.  
  
I wasn’t sure whether or not he heard me, and frankly, I did not care. I leaned against the door frame and watched him for a little while. He seemed as though he was in a trance like state, living and expressing his emotions through the instrument, and my heart ached for him. Without thinking, I walked over to him. He had his eyes closed as he played, and he didn’t stop for one second when I sat down next to him on the piano bench. There wasn’t much space for the two of us, and our thighs touched once I was seated next to him.  
  
With fascination, I watched his long graceful fingers dance over the ebony and ivory keys, almost stroking them tenderly. I couldn’t help but feel awe at his virtuosic skill but also that he seemed to be confident enough in playing that he didn’t need to look at the keys.  
  
There was an underlying sense of comfort in the way the doctor played. The melody, as melancholic as it was, was soothing and soon I found myself fighting off the urge to rest my head on Warthrop’s shoulder. However, I still gave in to the urge to lean against him. It wasn’t until then that he stopped playing, letting the last note ring out until the room was silent.  
  
“Will Henry,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Go back to bed. It’s late.”  
  
“What did you play?” I asked, deliberately ignoring his command.  
  
“Beethoven,” he said. “ _Die Mondscheinsonate_.”  
  
“It’s beautiful.”  
  
He nodded in reply. His fingers lightly grazed the piano keys yet again, restlessly almost, and then he took a deep breath, “Why did you come here? I thought I disgusted you.”  
  
“Yes, you do,” I agreed and I could feel how his entire posture slumped at that. “But,” I continued. “I don’t hate you.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
“I didn’t know you can play the piano.”  
  
“There are many things you don’t know about me, Will Henry.” He cleared his throat, and then looked at me. “Do you want me to play something else for you?”  
  
There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and innocent but also eager, that I could only smile in reply. This was answer enough for him for he nodded and began to play. It was a beautiful, still strangely melancholic melody which started slowly and began to swell after a while. Soon, I found myself sighing deeply and contentedly as I gave in and rested my head against Warthrop’s shoulder.  
  
He stopped playing, and when I lifted my head up to look at him, he had one eyebrow raised at me.  
  
“Why did you stop?”  
  
“I cannot remember the rest of it,” he confessed. “It’s not published yet, you see. My acquaintance Claude -- Debussy, his name is -- has only sent me bits and pieces of it as he wants to hear my opinion first.”  
  
“And, what did you tell him?”  
  
“I haven’t replied yet.” He smiled wryly. “How did you like it?”  
  
I gave a small involuntary laugh at that. “I rather like it. What’s it called?”  
  
“ _Claire de Lune_.”  
  
I hummed in reply as though I fully understood what the French title meant.  
  
“You have no idea what it means, do you?” Warthrop teased me good-naturedly with a grin.  
  
I merely shrugged. “No, doctor.”  
  
He opened his mouth to say something but fell quiet as soon as I rested my head on his shoulder again. The silence between us was comfortable enough, making my eyelids feel heavy. Suddenly, the doctor’s voice piped up as a low, gentle murmur, “Aren’t you cold, Will Henry? You’re just wearing your nightshirt.”  
  
“I’m fine, sir.”  
  
“Will Henry? I... I must apologise to you.” That declaration came as unexpected as the hand that descended upon mine. When I looked up at him, the doctor’s face looked uncharacteristically guilty. “I shouldn’t have taken your diary. It was wrong, I know it, and I hope you can forgive me.”  
  
I would be lying, if I said that his apology didn’t surprise me. Warthrop was someone who never apologised to anybody, and now it had happened twice within the last twenty-four hours. Dimly, I remembered how he was holding my hand, and when he gave it a gentle squeeze, I smiled warily back at him.  
  
“I may forgive you, sir, if you tell me why you took it from me in the first place.”  
  
In the poor light, I still could see how the doctor swallowed hard -- I liked to imagine he even had the decency to blush, but I couldn’t vouch for certain that it had indeed happened. He only fumbled nervously with the piano while his other hand let go of mine.  
  
“Doctor?” I pressed once more, trying hard not to sound too desperate. It was my right to know his motives after all, wasn’t it?  
  
Warthrop only stared back at me with his brows knitted; never had I seen him this troubled before, and without a warning, he brought up a hand to cup my cheek. And when he kissed me again, this time with such unusual gentleness and shyness, I didn’t push him away.  
  
There was an underlying sense of insecurity in his kiss, as though he feared I’d reject him once again, and it made my heart weigh heavy in my chest. I exhaled shakily through my nostrils when I kissed him back, brought a hand up to his neck and gently buried my fingers in his dark mane. Warthrop took my answer with such gratitude that I could feel how he relaxed underneath my touch and melted into the kiss, finally allowing himself to let down his guard.  
  
When we parted, he was panting and his tongue flicked over his lips at which I couldn’t stop staring.  
  
“Will Henry,” he rasped out, voice trembling slightly, but he was smiling at me nevertheless. “It’s not  _right_  for us to do it.”  
  
“But?” I grinned back at him. Slowly, my fingertips massaged in a circling motion the back of his beautiful head, and the doctor let out a deep, contented sigh.  
  
“I don’t want to stop.”  
  
“And why  _should_  we?”  
  
Warthrop gave a little insecure shrug for he had no answer to that. His expression, however, seemed so comical to me at that very moment, that I could only laugh quietly at it.  
  
“Come to think of it, Will Henry, I have never been a man who gives a damn about what is socially appropriate.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And that means, in conclusion, that I will take what I want, selfishly and irresponsibly.”  
  
“I approve of that, sir. Wholeheartedly.”  
  
“I thought as much, Will Henry,” he hummed, his voice low and soft. “But for now, let’s go to bed. It’s late and you’re wearing nothing but your nightshirt. I cannot risk losing your indispensable services due to a cold.”  
  
My face must have looked amusing to him for the doctor let out one of his rare hearty laughs. He leaned forward to press a kiss upon my brow before he pulled me up. Gone were the moments he’d flinch at the pain of his wound as soon as he’d move -- now, Warthrop seemed revived and eager, and I would have never fathomed that he had been seriously injured, if I hadn’t known better. As he lead the way to his room, holding my hand, he was walking like a young god, his stride quick and determined, along with a light little skip with every step he took.  
  
“Sir? When you said  _bed_ , don’t you think I should go into my own room?” I wanted to be careful with that question as I didn’t want to harbour any false hopes. Abruptly, my master came to a halt and stared at me with his dark eyes wide open in surprise and, if I may say so, undisguised shock.  
  
“Why would you do that, Will Henry? You’re coming with me, of course! That is,” he added quietly, and I could feel his confidence slipping away as he spoke, “unless you would like to go back to your own room.”  
  
As glad as I was about him granting me free will, I only continued to hold on to his hand, laced our fingers together.  
  
“I’m getting cold, sir.”  
  
He was pleased with my answer, I could see that. Quickly, we walked down the corridor and as soon as we entered his room and had the door closed, there was a brief awkward silence. What to do next?  
  
Warthrop paced around nervously for a little while before he finally made his decision. He didn't put on his nightshirt, chose to wear his long johns only, and I offered to look at his wound and see if he needed a new bandage, but he waved his hand dismissively; it could wait until morning. Once he had made his way into his bed, he looked up at me with questioning eyes.  
  
“Come and get under the covers, boy. It’s enough when there’s already  _one_  sick person in this house.”  
  
That invitation wasn’t really needed, but I readily accepted it nevertheless. As I slipped underneath the heavy blanket, his long arms enfolded me almost instantly. He made a move to shift in order to bracket my body with his, but he flinched and hissed in pain.  
  
“It’s okay, doctor, I’ve got you,” I whispered against his ear while I turned to lie on my side and wrapped my arms around him, careful so as not to hurt him.  
  
Warthrop hummed deeply with contentment and placed another kiss upon my forehead. And just like that, we fell asleep.  
  
*  
  
When I awoke, he was -- despite his injury -- curled up around me, his body spooning mine, both of us perfectly aligned with no space left between us. Warmth flowed through me, just like the comforting sense of security of being in his arms. His breathing against my neck was shallow and even, so I supposed he was still asleep. With reluctance, I wriggled myself out of his embrace, and the doctor let out a sleepy little groan of protest before he turned to lie on his back and continued to sleep. I only smiled at him.  
  
As I looked around his room, yawning and stretching my body, my gaze fell upon my diary which the doctor had put on his bedside table. Bitter was the taste in my mouth as I remembered how ashamed I had felt when I had found out about Warthrop’s deed. Still, he had done it for  _me_  -- which didn’t excuse his actions but I could no longer hold a grudge against him. I took the book with a small sigh and leaned back against the bed’s headboard; the book splayed out in front of me on my lap, ready to be read, while my other hand was slowly stroking my master’s soft dark hair. Only just now, when Warthrop was sleeping like this, I could marvel at the few bits of silver at his temples in his raven black mane.  
  
I don’t know why I tortured myself by flicking and reading through my diary once more but I did -- perhaps because I simply couldn’t believe my luck -- until something caught my eye. The hand that was gently raking its fingers through Warthrop’s hair faltered in its movements instantly.  
  
Was that  _red_  ink?  
  
Blinking in confusion, I observed the page more closely. The doctor hadn’t only stolen my book to satisfy his own curiosity and needs, no, he had  _corrected_  what I had written down about him.  
  
 _FALSE!  
  
Why would you write that, Will Henry?!  
  
As flattering as your description of my looks is, I DO NOT have a silky smooth voice! Stay reasonable!  
  
Now I know why you were too distracted to assist me, Will Henry -- you were too busy marvelling at my half-ripped clothes. Or rather, what lies underneath!_  
  
It went on and on like this, page after page, sometimes entire paragraphs were crossed out. If he had found something to his liking, however, he had marked the pages with a discreet piece of paper. Utterly baffled, I slowly turned my head to look down at him. Much to my surprise, he was watching me with a crooked smile.  
  
“You’re awake.”  
  
“Apparently so.”  
  
“How long have you been up?”  
  
“Mh…” He put on a pensive expression as he moved closer and half-draped one of his long well-shaped legs across mine. “I woke up when you stopped stroking my hair. Up until then, I was in that much too comfortable dozing state that you tend to fall into when I’m lecturing you, Will Henry.”  
  
“Are we going to talk about  _this_?” I frowned at him as I waved my diary in front of his face. It was one of those rare moments when I witnessed a naughty smile flickering across his features, making his face look unusually boyish.  
  
“I’d rather not, Will Henry. Unless you  _do_  feel like telling me personally how much you admire my shoulders or nose or how about --”  
  
I didn’t let him finish the sentence for I quickly pressed my lips against his -- and he was grinning smugly.  
  
We kissed slowly, and nothing else could have felt as comfortable as lying in bed with Pellinore Warthrop’s arms around my neck. I was moving carefully when I got into a more comfortable position which allowed us to deepen our kiss effortlessly. At the back of my mind, I wondered where he had learned to be  _that_  fantastic when it came to using his mouth for purposes other than holding dull lectures and berating me on a daily basis. A spark of jealousy flared up within my chest but I tried to ignore that strange possessive feeling as best I could. Still, it didn’t stop me from slowly straddling Warthrop’s lap; the kissing and rising heat and desperate need for  _more_  between us only fuelled my arousal. My master didn’t seem to mind at all for he let his hands slowly wander down my sides and back, before he gripped my hips and held on to them.  
  
“Will,” he rasped out between kisses. “Please --”  
  
“Please  _what_ , sir?” was my reply just before I pressed my lips to his again, and I nearly laughed at his slightly desperate expression; if Pellinore Warthrop hated doing one thing, it was begging.  
  
As sour as his face might have looked at that moment, it only filled my heart with tenderness. I cupped his cheek and pressed another gentle kiss to his lips, murmuring, “Help me out of this, will you?”  
  
Quickly, the doctor tugged my nightshirt off, discarded it carelessly on the floor next to his bed. Heat shot up to my face and I ducked my head with mild embarrassment as he took in the sight of my bare self straddling his lap; lightly, he trailed his fingertips across my chest and down to my abdomen, which caused my stomach to swoop deliciously.  
  
I was grateful that the doctor was already mostly bare himself for I couldn’t,  _didn’t_  want to wait much longer. Once I had helped him to get rid off his long johns and was seated again comfortably on his lap, I leaned forward and began to kiss him. Warthrop’s hands roamed helplessly over my body as though he couldn’t decide where exactly to hold on to, wanting all of it at the same time. In the end, one of his hands settled on the small of my back, pressing me against his arousal, while the other cupped the back of my head, his long elegant fingers threaded in my hair.  
  
The sounds Warthrop was making while being kissed like that were beautiful, but nothing could have sounded more heavenly than the moan he emitted as I moved my hips, rocking against him slowly -- after all, I had to be careful with him.  
  
We didn’t last long; our mutual need for each other was simply too much to handle. Due to my inexperience, I came first against my master. It was hot and messy but I couldn’t stop myself from rutting against him while the doctor kissed me delirious.  
  
“Sir --” I whimpered against him as he smoothed back my hair and kissed my face, but he only hushed me.  
  
“Not that. Say my name, Will, I want to  _hear you_.”  
  
I swallowed hard. “Pellinore.”  
  
The groan I got in response fuelled my filthy desire to make him come apart, and so I leaned in and nuzzled his ear as I still kept on rotating my hips against his. “Do you know how often I imagined this, Pellinore? How often I lay awake at night and touched myself because I couldn’t stop thinking about  _you_?”  
  
He let out a choked cry and I muffled it with another messy kiss. Both his hands were gripping my hips, fingertips digging into my skin -- I was sure there would be bruises soon -- and I felt his hot sticky release between us. And it was beautiful.  
  
I lay on top of him for a while, as long as I needed to recover myself. The doctor was absentmindedly stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head.  
  
“You corrected my diary,” I eventually sighed against his chest as my fingers traced his collarbones. I could feel the doctor’s chuckle vibrating through his broad chest.  
  
“I’m sorry, dear Will, I couldn’t resist. You know how curious I can get.”  
  
“Curious about  _what_?” I inquired with a small frown. I was only met by Warthrop’s sheepish smile.  
  
“Why you’d fancy me over your beloved Lilly Bates.”  
  
“I don’t love her!” I huffed.  
  
“Oh,  _now_  I know, too,” he laughed, and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, his dark eyes glimmering brightly. “But I wanted to know nevertheless how you… why…”  
  
I nodded, and I allowed a smile to play over my lips as well. “I get it. You don’t have to elaborate on your seedy intentions.”  
  
“ _Seedy_ , Will Henry? Now you’re being cheeky. You seem to be forgetting whom you’re talking to.”  
  
“Oh, I’m not, believe me.”  
  
Even though things had begun to shift in our relationship, what we  _were_  to each other, other things would always stay the same – which I was grateful for, otherwise he wouldn’t have been the Pellinore Warthrop I had come to admire and love.


End file.
